Eli's Black Parade
by Writes4All
Summary: ONESHOT. Eli gets beat up by Fitz, and Clare's upset. Semi-songfic, based off of 'Welcome To The Black Parade' by My Chemical Romance.


**So, I don't normally listen to MCR, but they came on the radio... and... HOW COULD I NOT THINK OF ELI! **

**(I edited the lyrics to make them sound more like a normal speech, and this is my first published fanfic, so sorry if it sucks.)**

"Come on, Bat Boy, I dare you to say it again!"

Eli rolled his eyes, "It again." Then neatly sidestepped the responding punch. "Listen, Fitz, if you're going to 'teach me a lesson', than you should learn how to aim first-"

_Oof._ The dark-haired boy felt the wind get knocked out of him as other guy succeeded in landing a solid kick to his abdominals, and fell to his knees. _ Damn it._

Fitz's gloating eyes narrowed dangerously as he again kicked his now-wheezing adversary to the ground. "What was that? Huh?" He stomped repeatedly on Eli's face, hands- anywhere it might hurt. Then, victoriously, he knelt, and whispered in the other's ear. "You know, I might forgive you for interfering with the freak if you'll let me play with your cute little girlfriend. I like the smart ones."

Eli's green eyes took on a steely glint, and, without stopping to think, he spat blood at Fitz, hate practically seething from his bruised body. "In your dreams, crackhead." He tried to get up, but the now fully enraged bully went berserk.

"You know what, Dracula? I think I'll make your skin match your clothes. You'll be the best dressed goth kid for miles around!" Laughing manically, he again began to attack the downed Eli, and didn't cease till the other was well into the grip of unconsciousness. Then, stepping back, he admired his work.

"You'll be sorry you ever messed with me, _Goldsworthy_." He hissed Eli's name like it was an insult, wiped the bloody saliva off of his cheek, and sped away. Oh yes, he was going to be sorry he _ever_ missed with Fitz.

"Eli, how could you!" Clare Edwards looked anxiously down at her English partner, who lay sprawled in his hospital bed. When he hadn't shown up for class a few days ago, she'd been sick with worry, especially after finding out that he's been sent to the emergency room. It was only today, nearly forty-eight hours after he's first regained consciousness that she and Adam had been allowed to visit. He didn't look too good. After being out cold for more than a day, he'd started to worry some of the doctors, and a few had wondered if he had had any internal hemorrhaging near the brain. Judging by the state of his head, it wasn't a petty concern. Eli's nose had been broken, his jaw nearly so, and the back part of his skull had been so battered it was amazing he hadn't had anything more than mild concussion. Then, besides that, he had two broken fingers, a cracked rib, and severe bruising all over his body. Once he was released, he'd need to walk on crutches for more than a month, because his kneecap was so swollen it couldn't support his weight.

But despite all that, he was able to smile at the pretty auburn-haired girl. "Oh, come on, Blue Eyes, 'Eli! Are you okay? Does it hurt? Do you want me to make you feel better?'" He tried to wiggle his eyebrows suggestively. "You can at least offer to kiss me better."

"Elijah Goldsworthy, you stupid, idiotic, foolish-"

"And irresistibly sexy. You forgot that one." He interrupted her.

Her huge baby blues grew watery. "How can you joke right now? The nurse told me you might've died!"

"So? What's your point?"

"The point," Adam interjected, finally speaking, "is that we know that this happened to you because you told Fitz to leave me alone. I thought I told you to stay out of it?"

"Adam and I were both scared out of our wits with worry. How could you do something so foolish, and cause all three of us so much pain?"

An idea struck him. "Well, Clare, you see, I have my morals. These morals mean more to me than almost anything else, more than Morty, more than rock music, even more than the color black."

"Morals?" Clare's nose wrinkled adorably, broadcasting her confusion for everybody to see. "What are you talking about?"

"It's kind of a long story." He smiled.

"I have time."

"Well," He settled back, trying to hide the good-natured mirth from his sage green gaze. When and if she ever figured out was he was doing… He would've smirked, but it hurt too much.

"You see, when I was a young boy, my father took me into the city to see a marching band. There we were, looking out over the crowd, and he turned and said to me, 'Son, when you grow up, would you be strong enough to be the savior of the broken, the beaten and the damned?' I looked at him with confusion, and then, he seemed to sigh. 'And will you defeat them, your demons, and all the non-believers with the plans that they have made?' "

"I told him I would, because he's be there to help me, but he shook his head. 'No, some day, I'll leave you, a phantom, to lead you in the summer, and join the black parade.'"

His voice rose steadily. "You see, Clare, sometimes I get the feeling he's watching over me. And so, through it all, the rise and fall, of the bodies in the streets, he's gone, but I want them all to know that I can carry on. That even though he's dead, his memory lives, lives in me! The world might send me reeling, send decimated dreams, with enough misery and hate to kill us all, but I can paint it black and take it back, shout loud and clear! I'll be defiant to the end, till I hear the call to carry on, because even though I'm dead and gone, my memory continues! That even though I'm broken and defeated, my weary friends will go marching on, carrying the same message. You may be disappointed now, but take a good look, because I don't care what happens to me! Do or die, they'll never make me, because the world will never take my heart. They can try, but they'll never break me, because I want it all; I want to play this part. I'm not going to explain, or say I'm sorry, because I'm unashamed. I'm going to show my scars, and then continue to speak out for the broken. Listen here, Clare, this is who I am! I'm not a hero; I'm just a boy, who was made to sing this song. I'm just a man; I'm not a hero, but I don't care! I can carry on, and I will!" He looked at her as she sat in stunned silence. "So, want to join me?"

"Eli." She spoke his name slow and soft, in hardly more than a whisper. "I- I-"

"Yes?" He asked, as he watched he stumble towards his bed, and abruptly kneel on the ground. He looked into her gorgeous eyes, which were filled with something that looked quite a bit like… love? Then, without bothering to explain herself, she leaned over, carefully took his face in her hands, and kissed him.

Eli could _not _have been happier, and it got even better when she suddenly broke away to proclaim, "Yes, yes I will!" before kissing him with even more passion. Actually, the only bad thing about it was that he couldn't really do anything without hurting, and so had no choice but to resign himself into passively enjoying it. Not the way he imagined their first kiss, but it was still happening, right?

Or at least, it was, until Adam piped up. "Um, Clare, you know he pretty much just said a whole sheet of song lyrics to you, right? That was My Chemical Romance to almost the letter."

_Adam, you idiot! _Eli thought as Clare suddenly moved away, outrage evident. "What?"

"Hey, it was still almost all true! No, don't hit me! I'm injured hey, wait! Clare, stop it! No, no! Ahhhh! Adam, save me!"

"I don't think so." The soft—featured boy said as he eyed the scene in front of him. "You may want to die, but being slaughtered by your girlfriend isn't really high on my to-do list."


End file.
